


Three's a party

by MadameBizarre



Category: Darkwing Duck (Cartoon)
Genre: Bracelet inhibitor, Claire has TWO hands to be held, F/M, Found Family, Gaming, M/M, Withdrawal Symptoms, post-comics, probation life for Elmo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-05-28 08:04:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15044390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameBizarre/pseuds/MadameBizarre
Summary: • Party (role-playing games)ˈpärdēnouna group of characters adventuring together in a role-playing game where they also share EXP & loot.Elmo meets her one gloomy evening at a bus stop; Quackerjack sits in and out of consciousness watching over her; Claire lives her life as she always has.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Un-beta'd

He met her at the bus stop one gloomy evening. The skies were overcasted with fluffy grey clouds and the air was suffocatingly moist, but it was expected for September. The electricity in his veins pulsated with the telltale signs of rain, sending all the energy to his foot and fingers as he began to tap and drum them (on his thigh) respectively within minutes of standing by the buse pole. He didn’t dare take a spot by the lonesome woman, fearful she may start small chat, or even tell him _why_ she looked so glum. Instead they stayed in polite silence, waiting for one of three busses to finally come by hopefully on time;  all too mundane for his tastes.

Megavolt had been let out on parole early with all his accumulated good words from Darkwing Duck over the few months -- a trade of favors when cases got too bizarre for the mallard’s mind to solve. Of course it meant constant checking in with his officer so he did not commit a crime of any size (he’d prefer a fine than being thrown back in prison for _littering_ ), and a power inhibiting bracelet clamped tight over his wrist. The current of electricity still ran its course alongside his blood, but since it was too dangerous to attempt ridding him of the abnormality, it was decided that keeping him on a leash was better; thank goodness it was not an _actual_ collar. He could feel the watts of power begging to be released, but the best Megavolt could do was let it sizzle around his fingers, or release it to charge small appliances like bulbs and phones (he should be getting paid for secretly charging phones passing by). Anything higher than a typical cellular charger, for longer than five minutes, and it would be recycled through the bracelet, then sent back into him, specifically his bones, and as much as he loved a good jolt, his bones _did not_.

Now a month into living on the outside, forced to only be his citizen-self, and fending for himself after being dropped off by his parole officer at an employment agency, Elmo was sick of the routine. He was sick of the late busses! Not to mention the poor weather forecasts; at the first drop against his nose, the rat’s pupils shrunk. Frantically he wiped it off as if it were a deadly toxin, then turned his head to the grey sky as more slowly descended. Two minutes, tops, then it would pour down like a great deluge, and his only saving grace was the woman. The umbrella she so suddenly held was bright red, with such a wide girth it could fit possibly three people.

With no word, but with a loud _thump!_ Elmo took a sit close to her, ducking under the umbrella.

“Bad forecasting, huh?”

Perhaps he had sat down _too_ close, his cheek nearly scraping by her small beak when they both turned to look at one another. Any other time Elmo would have thrown himself backwards from the situation, but with the rain drumming around them, he only hid between his shoulders with a poor excuse of a friendly smile.

“Yeah. don’t even have an umbrella.” Was his best attempt of a reply; what painful irony and amusement. She did not seem fazed by his intrusion of personal space, rather she continued to look sullen even with a forced smile. No shove away, nor sound of disgust; Elmo found his eyes switching from the woman to the street with no idea of how to carry on. The main issue now was how he would get through the five minute walk to his apartment  from the bus without short-circuiting through the rain; there may have been little charge within him, but it was still enough to cause him to burn out. Each beat of water onto their coverage was like a death march, and the smell of wet cement teased his nose.

“It seems like good luck on your part that I’m here.” She continues with a weak voice.

“You don’t know how right you are.”

There’s silence again, but this time it’s a tad more bearable. Elmo drums his fingers on his knees while she stares at the wet floor with her everlasting moping face. Across the street few people continue on their way with dark umbrellas in hand. Far too many for his liking are in pairs, holding hands and huddling close to keep warm and dry -- it brings two things to mind. One, he missed Quackerjack like he missed a good zap from an outlet; and two, social courtesy called for introductions -- right? Might as well work on that since there was little possibility of escaping probation.

“Uhmm….name’s Elmo -- what’s yours?” He decided to give her face a look over while he was at it. Voluminous dull-copper hair with a fair complexion as opposed to his own tanner skin, and almond shaped eyes that, when she lifted her head, had the rat flinching backwards, amazed at how green they were. Behind the grey backdrop of rain and cold hues, she seemed to glow like a leaf after the morning mist; the more he stared into her emerald eyes, the more he found they looked like bright LED lights. She was attractive, but it was more alarming than memorizing for the sole reason that he was not used to someone like her so willingly being beside him. That he was taking notice of her like he would a perfectly bright bulb, or Quackerjack when he was twirling around while mumbling scientific mumbo-jumbo. It had been so long since a situation like this had happened, and Elmo _hated_ it.

“I’m Claire, nice to meet you Elmo.”

Her eyes seemed to scrunch up for a moment before crinkling into a sincere smile for once; he gulped at it’s kindness.

“You work nearby?”

“Yeah, Raul’s Repairs shop --” He began before her eyes widened like two christmas lights.

“Oh! I know Raul’s, I take all my electronics there! I dropped off my laptop just the other day to repair it’s keyboard.”

“I know the one your talking about -- we just got the replacement in. I’m gonna swap it tomorrow.” Yes, he knew each and every device in there, most of them gaming consoles brought in by youngsters who didn’t know how to care for their babies. The only part of his job that mollified him from going crazy was knowing that there was a good amount of love shown. Despite the worst of their patrons who came in like alcoholics after work, each one of them were truly horrified that their beloved Playstation or Xbox had to be brought in and left behind for their own folly -- many placing kisses on their beloved electronics. It was a bearable place, just enough that he stayed (though, not to mention one of the few willing to hire him). Her laptop came to mind like a flicker on of a bulb: a fifteen-inch, GTX 2010 of the newest model, with an I12 Duckcore. She obviously polished it constantly, careful of the many stickers on it’s lid since they did not seem water damaged, but faded like battle scars.

“The Duckware one -- right? With the glowing red and blue parts?”

“Yeah, you got the sticker that says ‘the cake is not a lie’. Trust me, I know a loved baby when I hear it.” It had expressed a deep desire to be fixed and charged so it could go home; almost all the devices did.

So fast had her smile grown into a grin as she tilted her head, no doubt confused at his ability to ‘hear’, yet she did not bring it up. “Yes ,yes! I’m so happy to hear that -- it’s been a...hard time for me lately, and Jester helps me out.”

“You named your laptop Jester?”

“Yeah, I just….I guess because he’s so much fun.”

If there had been anything more behind her words, Elmo did not catch it. Not while his mind flashed once more to his own jester and his big grin; how long had it been since he’d caught word from him? Time was never important to them, but now that the rat was no longer juiced up on electricity, the minutes seemed to tick on by. What coherent memories were reachable only told  that Quackerjack was beyond _pissed_ after their last scheme with Liquidator and Bushroot. Then one day, he was gone, no one in the top bunk save for a clever fake set up for an escape. No word, no ‘I gotta go Sparky, call you later’, just….silence. The kind that left Elmo to wander his muddled mind. Now he sat at the bus, under Claire’s red umbrella, staring off into space.

“Elmo, are you okay?”

“Yeah...just, uhhh, I like the name. I’ll take care of Jester, don’t worry about it.” He shook his head to physically clear his mind of the past; fun as it had been, he grudgingly had to admit that normal life was not half-bad either. Despite the boring routine, at least he was helping his electronic friends in some small way, and had a decent pay to live off of. At Least he wasn’t living with his parents like back in highschool and those few years of university classes.

Maybe he could also go back to those now that he was older and experienced with his tendencies.

“Do you play any video games?”

Games….”Hmm? Oh, yeah, yeah I do.”

“What kinds?”

“Anything,  I’ve got a lotta’ consoles, so whatever game I can get my hands on….I like RPG’s the most I guess: more free will to do as I like.” More fun taking his anger out on virtual monsters.

“I do too, I love customizing a character and battling creatures.” Then she became shy -- he knew because she shrunk into her shoulders like had. Her lips began to quirk while her cheek moved, teeth biting at the inside of it. “Do you play Whifflequest?”

“Yeah, I mean, who doesn’t?” Wait, he knew who didn't, and apparently she did too but they didn’t bring it up, and soon enough he forgot her face had turned sad once more before looking up to him with a small grin.

“I play a level ninety Orc -- what about you?”

He did a double take at the information: “Ninety? You must have a lot of free time.”

She did it again, her cheek biting, but not as severe or else she wouldn’t have been able to reply. “I don’t have a job currently, so I make money by streaming and making Utube videos.”

Not one to sit down and watch anything online, Elmo had the barest idea of what she meant only because of  the gamers who entered the repair shop. It was not hard eavesdropping on them, nor seeing what they were playing on their laptop screens when lounging around the shop. It was a site where they watched other people play games, but he never found interest in that; the few reasons he used the internet was for pawning stuff off or e-books, besides that he usually took laptops apart for spare parts. There wasn't much to to say about her choice of job, he didn’t want to pry either -- he doesn’t care really. The conversation actually turned out to be nice though, and he couldn’t stop looking at her electric-green eyes.

“I’m a level thirty gnoll. I’d play more, but the game’s boring.”

“Not with friends! That’s when it’s the most fun! I have a group I play with most of the time, and then I have my stream audience to talk with.” She went on like the Liquidator trying to make a sell.

With her eyes turned around, the rat could tell she was embarrassed, a reaction he knew all too well on his part. Had she been bullied about her interests like him? He could see it: adults who played games were looked down upon like children. Men who took too much interest in science were weak nerds. She didn’t need to tell him, any fool could come to the realization if they could have this sort of conversation with her; they were same in that way too. If he were to compare them, they would have both been called  childish nerds by any other person. The only difference was (besides her being sane) that Claire was a gorgeous woman and men would focus on her curvy hips than her interests. No matter what, Elmo would be pushed around, and that made a burning envy settle in his chest just as the bus came to a stop.

Together they boarded it with Claire standing, waiting until he followed. She outstretched her arm to let him lead and awkwardly he did with a polite nod while she held the umbrella high over them. Without a thought behind it, Elmo waited for her to finish shaking the item off before she turned around, letting the doors shut and flashing her bus pass. Once together again, Claire lead them to a pair of seats -- taking the window view when the rat piped up: “I get off in three stops.” Once more they sat in a comfortable silence with their bodies so close together, he had to curl inward of himself so he would not only keep their knees from knocking together, but also press into the man standing up beside their seats; why this stranger was standing when there were perfectly good seats available, Elmo could only roll his eyes at it. The situation only became further cramped as they stopped at the next station.

His mind hurried to distract himself from the walls of bodies blocking him in; weren’t he and Clair talking not a few minutes ago? About video games and playing them and how playing together was fun. That was it, yeah. “So what’s your gamertag for Whifflequest?”

“Huh?” Her dazed face turned to him -- looking as though she had been daydreaming while looking out the window.

“We were talking about playing together, right?”

“Oh...Oh yeah, yeah!” Maybe that _wasn’t_ what the conversation had been, but it didn’t matter now -- she was smiling again and it was a lovely contrast from the pattering rain behind her.

From her purse the woman pulled out a small notebook and a pen to scribble with. Tearing out the page, she handed it over for Elmo to read and keep. There was more than one username on it, which was redundant when her accounts (PNS, Microsoft, Steam) all shared the same one, save for one or two alterations that told him that someone had taken it before she could. He stared at it longer than what was probably normal.

“Just message me whenever you’re down to play, we can party up and do any quest you want.” She dropped the items back in her purse; had she been holding those as long as he had the paper?

In an instant he knew he’d forget. There was possibly nothing that could help him remember why he had this paper, or who she was _exactly_ , and suddenly the rat was angry at himself. Why did he have to always forget -- how fried had his brain become? Who cared -- she would probably forget him too, and if she found out who he really was she would run away. It was better this way anyways, so Elmo shoved the paper in his jean pocket, then looked past her warm face to the wet, cold world. It was his stop and it was coming down hard.

“Later Claire.”

“Later Elmo.”

Something inside him seemed to drop, but Elmo thought nothing on it as he pulled his gaze from her lips that curled into a grin that made him wonder. The thought stopped before he could make heads or tails of that glint in her eye, and he stood to squeeze his way between bodies. There always seemed to be _something_ going on his body that he could not decipher, an odd drop was nothing to raise concern as long as he was able to walk and think. With the echo of rain ringing in his ears, he pulled up the umbrella before stepping off the bus -- holding it down low to brush over his hair. The apartment complex was down the block, a stroll in which his mind wandered off, only this time it was about green flashes of electricity and dull flames that he felt in the pit of his stomach.

How was he dry? He didn’t own an umbrella, let alone a brightly colored one….He must have picked it up somewhere by mistake.

No harm no fowl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I really love Claire, she has a cute, plain-Jane design with big thicc mom hips that deserve to be loved by both QJ & Megs. And I hate seeing people bitch and moan over a woman (or men sometimes) get between their 'otp gay ship'. The obvious solution is to OT3 them and let them all be happy, sheesh.
> 
> Anyways, I'll add more later on, but for now this will say complete because it'll take me awhile to write more and can possibly stand alone.
> 
> Support me and this story by commenting and


	2. Switch on

Working the front desk was not his favorite task when his talents were best suited for fixing the poor hurt babies in the back. Not only that, but the aspect of interacting with anyone never put him at ease. Slow days were therefore his favorite, allowing him to at least read a book as he leaned over the glass counter, or zone out as he stared towards the refurbished electronics within the casing. Being mediocre at making conversation was bad enough if it were himself, but half the patrons who went in were usually just as bad or possibly worst, and the mix was never went well; don’t get him started on their personal hygiene that reflected their lack of communication skills as well, at least _he_ did his best to smell nice -- and he was _insane_ to boot.

So doing his best to keep busy and not catch anyone’s eye, Elmo kept his face casted downward to avoid the prospect of talking.

“Elmo,”

“Yeah boss?”

“You know that red laptop we got last week? With the broken keyboard.”

“Yeah, Jester.”

“Jester?”

Lifting his gaze up from the book, Elmo blinked a few times as a green zap of electricity ran down his spine in a way he was not used to. “Yes...that’s what the owner named it.”

Looking over his shoulder he saw Raul leaning against the doorless frame with the curtain pulled aside. Back there was the employee’s only area where he longed to be currently, where the tablets and computers all beckoned him to fix and free them. His  boss was the only person keeping him from being there though, quite literally too as he stood between the thresholds. A fifty-something year-old with more grays than brown over his thin frame, Raul did not look like much, but he could hold his own in a fights involving fists or guns; the old man would gloat of his golden years in the outskirts Mexico where he was raised and deemed a hero to the locals who were not under government jurisdiction. A part-time mechanic, part-time vigilante when he was younger, he did not fear the ex-villain, rather he took a familial liking to him. Elmo could not say he disliked that part of their employer-employee relationship, if anything it helped him keep the job for many reasons.

“Whatever you say -- the part ain’t coming in on time. They sent a back-order email and no date when’ll be back in stock.”

"But I thought you said we  _did_ get them in."

"No, I said, we got the email that it was in transit. Then those pendejos emailed me this morning that something went wrong."

That shouldn’t have disheartened the rat as it did, but his shoulders were slumping now. He had wanted to fix it personally since entering the store the other day, which was nothing new for his love of electronics. The deep seated desire to do it was what made it odd, as if it were his mission given by some higher power to do so. Every time the idea of going to the backroom and getting to work on it came to mind, Elmo felt zap of anxiety constrict his chest, and warmth would rise from his neck to his cheeks.

“Hey, guey, are you okay?” Raul’s raspy called out as he stepped forward to place a hand over the rat’s shoulder; the reaction was a jerk back from the touch and a wide-eyed, distant face.

“Hmm? Yeah, yeah, I’m good.”

“Tranquilo kid, I get youre a technophile, but it’s not like that thing is your last meal.”

He was right, but Elmo could not stop the sigh that left his nostrils. “Don’t know what took me over me boss, guess I’m just in need of a fix.”

“Go on and fix whatever’s next on the list back there, Chispito. I’ll handle the front.”

“Yeah…” He looked over Raul’s perpetually dirty jumpsuit before turning his gaze downwards, rubbing a hand over his neck, and going towards the room.

“And stop calling me that!” Was the last thing he said before closing the heavy curtain. If it wasn’t one person, it was another with that damned nickname.

* * *

Halfway into soldering the motherboard of a computer that still ran on Windows XP, Elmo’s mind began to wander with the iron and pad pressed down onto the green canvas of  circuitry. Dangerous, yes, did he care, no -- it was child’s play to meld the connections together. There was something more important on his mind as the smell of smoking metal wafted in the air -- calming and like fine cologne to his burnt senses. The ideas began to zap through his head, bright and blue like fresh electricity of a switch turned on. Each strand pulsed through, only to branch off into more streaks that zig-zagged before they all turned into the same direction. They continued, one racer into another, all with one goal mind where, finally, they surged to one point and the rat’s whole body lit up -- _literally_ as the currents of electricity took form and danced around his pale-brown fur.

Back erect and soldering tools lifted (gratefully nothing had burned _too_ much), Elmo’s epiphany was short lived when the amount of sparks jumping off him came to the forefront of his mind.

_“Shit, fuck, this is too much! It’s gonna set off the stupid bracelet!”_

He didn’t like calling it stupid -- an enslaved device was not at fault for it’s function -- but being shocked to his bones was never enjoyable. So bringing his hands up, the ex-villain visualized the wild electricity to his palms, tugging the tips of each current to follow up the path of his veins, and let whatever reached the destination first crackle off his fingertips. One flick of his wrists to the carpeted floor sent half of it all to run free through the fibers, then the second one came to chase after the first. Unfortunately each blue streak went straight for the outlets and plugged in extension cords  scattered all over the backroom.

A distorted ripple of electricity echoed before the lights began to flicker and anything plugged in abruptly turned on, creating a cacophony of noise that would make Bill Gates regret ever giving sound to his creations. It only took five, agonizing, seconds of technological wailing when everything turned off -- or more accurately, short-circuited. The sound was replaced with the indignant cries of customers, alongside choice swears, followed by a few actual sobs.

“CHISPEANTE!”

But as he stood in the room with only his lit eyes cutting the darkness, Elmo stared down at his hands, flexing each long digit, then squeezing them into fists -- keeping his idea in his grasp unlike so many times before.

For once, he would remember what he had wanted to do.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chispito -- Diminutive of Chispa, which is Spark. The word means Drop or drunk/tipsy in Spanish, but in the context of Elmo and anyone who knows him, its Little Spark. It’s a nickname on par with ‘sparky’
> 
> Chispeante -- sparkling. A more well-known way to call Elmo ‘Sparky’ without having to explain to an outsider the meaning.
> 
> guey-- Pronounced like 'Way', can be spelled like "Wey" "Wei". An insult that also can be used as 'dude' for friends and family and only them.
> 
> Raul is based off everyone's favorite Abuelo from Fallout New Vegas, and just a BTW, Elmo is Hispanic/Latinx in here, which is my new ~~projection~~ headcannon. I'll write more about this later somewhere.
> 
> Still un'beta'd and read over twice by me.


	3. (1) NEW MESSAGE

The city was under clouds much gloomier than the season called for. They casted a grey atmosphere over everything that laid under their strewed forms, and on par with the weather were the citizens of Saint Canard. Long coats of cold colors which absorbed them into the overcasted city, and somber expression on faces as they strode by with never a glance elsewhere but forward. Even in the car Elmo could see every sober hue as his parole officer drove.

“Thanks for the ride, Drake.” He spoke up now that he could see the store up ahead.

Coming to a red light, the mallard spared his passenger a glance; unkempt curly brown locks,  tanned skin dulled from lack of sun, and a warily determined furrow in his brow that Drake had seen before in horrible situations. He could not allow the once-villain to be escorted without him when the rat’s tone of voice had been filled with conviction over the phone. Now he knew it to be the right choice. “Of course, it’s buds are for.”

“Or parents who don’t trust their kid.” Elmo  tilted his ever so slightly towards the window, cocking a brow onto his already unamused face.

“Hey, I’m a bud who just so happens to be your parole officer making sure you continue on the right path!”

“So who’s giving me this ride: my old bud, or my babysitter?”

Drake Mallard’s jaw tightened for what felt longer than a few seconds, and his hand on the wheel clenched then released several times. So desperately did he want to say _‘your fellow high school nerd’_ , but the fact of the matter was that the lanky teenager he once was shoved into lockers with was no more. Elmo had lead a long life of villainy, hurt hundreds, stolen billions, and even killed people for looney ideas. His brain had been fried, burning the science loving rat into a charred man by the name of Megavolt. As the secret vigilante of their city, and officer of the law, Darkwing Duck had a duty to uphold, even if it meant straining relationships.

“We’re here.” He did not mean for it to come out so monotonous, but the moody father in him kicked in.

“Thanks again.”

“Elmo --”

The  door shut, and the shrinking backside of Elmo Sputterspark faded into the crowd in the same fashion that reminded Drake of Gosalyn in one of her teen moods. Sighing, he put the car back into drive and pulled away from the curb in front of the ‘Best Gains’ store with his home in mind.

Well that went well, he thought as he came upon a freshly changed red-light.

In his mind the idea of being Elmo’s parole officer had sounded so easy and beneficial, he’d have open access to watch over the villain and a chance to try and help his friend return to society. That had been a hopeful dream that now was backfiring in a way Drake had never thought of. There was history between them that he had forgotten, it never crossed his mind the possibility of it coming up like a messy wedge. Megavolt’s lack of electricity allowed his brain to cool down and, as Drake tried to come up with further electrical comparisons, do a soft reboot. In the past Megavolt did not remember the name Drake Mallard, but as Elmo with a head left with only smoke from an electrical fritz, he slowly had.

Stepping on the gas, the mallard snorted. “Like riding a bike, you never forget being shoved into a locker -- and who with..”

In anycase, he could not allow Elmo and his case overtake his civilian life. His daughter and….something of a co-parent, needed him too. That was how it was the past few years, balancing hero and dad duty like some sort of romcom movie. Him the single dad with a rambunctious teen, an air-headed bestfriend-slash-co-parent, and a job that demanded him at every corner. Atleast his love interest was top tier, though perhaps unconventional, but that was one of the many reasons he loved Morgana. Wherever that left Elmo, he did not want to sort it out, and soon enough he was pulling into the driveway of his little suburban home. He scowled when his head turned to look over the picket fence where Herb Muddlefoot was busy polishing his car, appearing like some sort of madman under the grey weather.

“Evenin’ Drake!”

“Hello Herb.” He shut the door behind him and began his walk up the pathway.

“Gosalyn sure is getting big, eh drake? Brings a tear to my eye watching the kids gettin’ older.”

“Observant today, huh? What gives.” Not wanting to start a conversation with the most annoying man he had ever met, the father instinct kicked in, causing Drake Mallard to stop when he was so close to his front porch.

With a fidget of his shoulders, the bigger man averted his eyes. “Well the missus has some concerns with how Gos has been dressing. Says it ain't very appropriate for a girl her age.”

Whatever the hell that meant, Drake clumped it with the topic of Elmo Sputterspark and continued his walk. “Well tell her it _ain’t_ her concern with how _my_ daughter dresses.” And he shut the door with a tad more force than necessary -- the picture frames rattling for a second.

There was only the sound of a muffled radio upstairs, which was the most silent the home had been in a long while. It meant Launchpad was at his own home, probably working on his plane or whatever he did when not eating the Mallard family out of home. That also meant there was nothing keeping Drake from a hearty pre-dinner snack...save his daughter. His eyes landed on the stairs right in front of him. So much for pushing the topic aside.

“Gosalyn!” She wouldn’t hear him, but where was the parental fun in having to call her only once.

When his only answer was the radio playing God knew what, Drake stepped forward and placed a hand on the banister.

“GOSALYN!”

“YEAH DAD?” She cried back.

“COME DOWN HERE HONEY!”

“BUT I DIDN’T DO SQUAT!”

“COME DOWN HERE _HONEY_!”

And he went towards the kitchen, listening as the radio turned off, the door opened, and bare feet trudged down the hall and stairs. When he opened the fridge, Gosalyn Mallard stood there under the kitchen’s archway with her shoulders slouching forward.

“I’ve been in my room all day since I got home, dad. Whatever happened, it couldn’t possibly be me.”

“You’re not in trouble, I just wanted to see what the muddlefoot wife is complaining about _this_ time.” He turned to look her over. It was Friday, which meant casual dress day at her expensive private school. Instead of her typical flannel dress shirt, vest, skirt, stockings, and buckled shoes, Gosalyn was free to be who she truly was: a graphic-tee, skinny-jean wearing, Converses trotting teenager with her carrot-colored hair in one loose, frizzy braid.

“What did she have the misters say?” the teenager snorted and crossed her arms so she could lean against the wall.

“Something about you not dressing appropriately or _something_ , I dunno, you know how those Muddlefoots are.” Drake shook his head, turning his attention to what he could make to eat.

“They’re conformists dad -- commonfolk. If I don’t walk out of the house looking like a Mormon, half of the neighborhood begins to gossip.”

“Don’t talk like that sweetie, it’s rude.”

Gosalyn rolled her eyes as she watched her father’s head dive into the fridge. “Dad you called them conformists not even yesterday.”

“Yes, but I’m an adult, and _you_ shouldn’t compare them to stereotypes,”

If eyes could, Gosalyn’s would have did a whole roll inside and out of her sockets. “You’re horrible dad, you know that?” A hypocrite! She moved to sit at the table and kept her eyes on her father as he shut the fridge door with a foot and set down all the makings for one large turkey sandwich.

“Anyways, you’re exaggerating on the gossiping, hun.”

“Of course you think that, you're a _guy_ , you don’t pick up on the gossiping like girls do. It’s like a sixth sense.”

“Morgana doesn’t gossip.”

“Yes, she does! And if you ask her whether or not what I’m saying is true, she’d agree with me!”

“Maybe I will, but enough of this. Do you want a sandwich too?” Drake finished spreading mayonnaise on two slices of bread meant for himself.

“...Yeah. lay that turkey meat on me.”

While she slouched back in her seat and turned her face toward her cellphone, Drake spoke up again. “The Muddlefoot kids are alright though.”

“Yeah, Tank looks like he’ll start a dumpster fire at anytime at school, and Honker….well, he’s cool.”

“You see, not so conformist now, eh?” He pushed a plate towards her and began to put everything away.

“Yeah, yeah,” She let her phone drop to the table with a clatter before sitting up to eat. “How was officer duties today -- get electrocuted yet?”

“Ha, ha, very funny, but no. He was actually...quite normal today. Like he had something important to do.”

“Well he called you pretty early today, doubt that’s normal when hopped up on wattage or not.”

She was right, Drake had to give his daughter that. He took a spot beside her, setting down two, cold cans of Cola down absently. It had been eight-thirty in the morning when his cell rung and himself was fresh out of the shower. “Won’t lie hun, I was worried for a sec he was setting me up to knock me out and go on the run to another country.”

“Where’d he wanna go anyways?” Gosalyn washed her food down with a large chug. The father and daughter duo left a few seconds silent, until finally a loud belch came from the teenager’s mouth and they both began to chuckling.

Still grinning, Drake shook his head, his mind also still in disbelief from the ride request. “To the electronics store -- ballsy of him.”

“The guy has a death wish for sure. That bracelet on his arm is gonna fry him up in all the wrong ways.” She let out a small, stray burp. “So what’s gonna be for dinner?”

Gosalyn was anything but scrawny, and it was not all fat either. Her time on the hockey team, softball league at school, and exercising at the gym with Launchpad twice a week had given his daughter muscles that daunted the boys around Saint Canard when flexed. She didn’t own a flat stomach, nor were her thighs and legs skinny, and her jeans only made it all the more obvious how fast she could be or how hard she could kick. Gosalyn Mallard was not a petite girl, she was a rock’em, sock’em menace that gave her two father figures a run for their money. So for her to ask about dinner when she was finishing up would could have been such for some other girl it did not shock him.

“Well, if you can call him before he gets home to us, Launchpad can bring us a few pizzas and ice-cream.”

“Keen gear, dad!”

And Drake smiled.

* * *

 

God it had been hard to go through that story and _NOT_ bash every damned case open and tear the displays apart to release those poor children. Hooked up to minimum power, touched by grubby little fingers, talked about like they were not right there. They claimed this one was too weak, the other was too ugly looking, and so many more were just not worth it. Were it not for the bracelet on his wrist -- so tight that he felt it scrap his skin every time he flexed it -- Elmo would have grabbed a plugged in cable and begun charging up for a prison break.

If it weren’t for his current goal, he would have taken that chance.

Instead a new sort of electrical charge ran through him, the kind that did not set his bracelet off. In his mind’s eye he could see it set his heart pumping with a new kind of static tingling. A green vine of electricity which curled around his spine and hugged his shoulders like a warm blanket. It was so new, so strong, it honestly scared him shitless how much of a hold it held over him. To momentarily stop him from what he had done so many times in the past and soothe the anger he felt when roaming the store, that was too much damn power. It left him feeling _vulnerable_.

When he was asked if any help was needed, he shooed them away with a wave of his hand and continued on his own. A man on a mission; stopping only once he reached the keyboards section and began to go up and down the whole aisle while remembering Jester’s specs. He --the laptop-- had been sent in for a keyboard that had keys no longer responding and the back-light not working correctly, but Elmo knew there was more reason behind the malfunction. After his accident yesterday with the power, he had asked Raul to let him take Jester home with him to work on. Only after fixing the electricity, unplugging and re-plugging all the wires to make sure they were not damaged, and taking on some extra closing time shifts was he allowed to grab the laptop. He would have to make it up to Raul besides doing extra shifts, because that old man was far too kind to him and even a juiced up Megavolt could see that.

Now that he was home, Elmo scooted his office chair under his desk to begin his work. He pushed his laptop back to give Jester some space to sit upside down, ready to unscrew the back compartments. A quick look to his laptop, though, reminded him he could play some music while working, or better yet put on the news to see what the other villains were up to. Once he was logged in, he was with a bottom-corner notification of a new message on his Whifflecraft game client. Quickly he clicked it to save him time from actually finding the client’s icon in his tray filled with other unneeded clients -- a peeve of his he did not want to mentally vent about at current.

 **_♔R3dBar0ness♔:_ ** _Hey, its Claire!_

For a second Elmo thought he had forgotten who it was, but that wasn’t the case fortunately. The moment he saw her name, the image of her green eyes and round face glowing in the forefront of rain popped up; it was the username that him confused. Sure enough, his brain did not fail in forgetting that he had actually added her on the his Whifflecraft friends list -- God he could just off about how annoying having a separate launcher and it’s own contact list was! It was coming back to him: receiving her friend request that night after meeting her and merely accepting it without so much of a greeting or check of who it was. At least it benefited him now.

The message was sent half-an-hour ago when he was on his commute back home.

 **_copperconductor:_ ** _whats up, its Elmo_  
**_♔R3dBar0ness♔:_ ** _Oh good, I was afraid id typed in ur username wrong c:_  
**_copperconductor:_ ** _nah, thats why its so simple_  
**_♔R3dBar0ness♔:_ ** _i like it! makes me think of someone in coattails with a big conductor’s stick made of copper_  
**_copperconductor:_ ** _i dont even listen to classical music but it fits my brand. Wouldnt be caught dead in coat-tails tho_  
**_♔R3dBar0ness♔:_ ** _awwwww c; lol_  
**_♔R3dBar0ness♔:_ ** _what you up to?_  
**_copperconductor:_ ** _actually working on Jester. im sure you got the email_  
**_♔R3dBar0ness♔:_ ** _ye :c but i dont mind waiting a little longer. no more than a month though. using this old laptop i have aint gonna work it if gaming is paying my bills._  
**_copperconductor:_ ** _what kind of laptop is?_  
**_♔R3dBar0ness♔:_ ** _in one word: Mac. not a bad brand, but not for me_  
**_♔R3dBar0ness♔:_ ** _im a Pc girl Xc_  
**_copperconductor:_ ** _i see, ive got my preferences too_  
**_copperconductor:_ ** _dont worry tho you can pick up Jester after tomorrow_  
**_copperconductor:_ ** _im doing some custom work on him_  
**_♔R3dBar0ness♔:_ ** _you dont have to !!! i can wait !!!_ _  
_ **_copperconductor:_ ** nah its cool, i really want you and him reunited

….

 **_♔R3dBar0ness♔:_ ** _thank you Elmo, that means a lot to me c’:_

_…_

**_♔R3dBar0ness♔:_ ** _do you have some spare time to play a little, or ??? i dont mind either way, especially since your doing me a big favor c:_  
**_copperconductor:_ ** _i could do a hour or so before getting intimate with Jester_  
**_♔R3dBar0ness♔:_ ** _eeewwwwww cx lmao_  
**_♔R3dBar0ness♔:_ ** _lets meet up in server NA99, fast travel to the tavern in elserwind. its far enough away from orcshire where i last logged in and where no other orcs will harass you_  
**_copperconductor:_ ** _lead the way baroness_  
**  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if ya'll catch me interchanging whiffleCRAFT & whiffleQUEST its cool, im just an airhead and Im sure in cannon its common & done a lot freely...or it is now anyways. Also its just a mash up of WoW, TESO, and probably GW2 since I dont play one of them often (TESO maybe) enough to know all the functions in-game.
> 
>  9 pages look like a lot in google docs :/
> 
> [ Also here is my growing playlist for this fic too. ](https://open.spotify.com/user/swordser/playlist/3lgvYpmESnCbdGN503IeN4?si=893Lp0J5QJylhi0fqKfHlw)
> 
>  
> 
> Don't forget to Comment! and Kudos!


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